


Rushing Water

by mousesprings



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Major Illness, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, basically it's rabies, or is it...., snufkin sweety im so sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 03:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousesprings/pseuds/mousesprings
Summary: Snufkin has an unusual sickness.





	Rushing Water

Snufkin was roughly halfway into his journey back home when he was bitten. At first he had paid the experience little mind; throughout his seasonal wanderings, he would frequently endure injuries from nature's defenses. It would range from the spiky grips thorns and brambles, to a furious nip in the ankle from a protective mother hedgehog when he had strayed too close to her burrow. Usually he would simply clean the wound and continue on his way, and there were always bandages in his bag just in case; which he had only used once when a tear in the shoulder from a tree branch had gotten infected. 

He had encountered a small stream, but blocking his way across the stepping stones was an immobile creature. It appeared to be something like an otter, and it was probably asleep, but he was not entirely sure on either of those factors. The creature looked heavily dishevelled, like it had not moved from that spot in weeks, and it reeked of something rancid and rather... threatening. The appearance and aura about this creature had almost made Snufkin turn away, but it was getting late, and he had no patience to find an alternative route. 

At first he began with pleasantries, stepping forward with caution and mewing his most polite _excuse me_. No response, so he tried again - a little louder. But still nothing from the creature, and Snufkin's patience was starting to dwindle. He clapped his paws and called out to it. "Hello? Are you listening to me?" When his attempts turned out to be futile, he figured he would need to resort to physically startling it away. He hated doing it, but the sky was turning orange.

_Ill-mannered little turd_. He advanced to the creature with a paw outstretched, preparing to shake it awake or having it swim away with a squeal after a brief touch. The negative aura was deepening, and something within Snufkin begged him to turn the other way, but his paw met its matted coat anyway. The creature jolted and turned, a pair of wild yellow eyes burning holes into him. Its crooked muzzle extended to reveal a shattered set of teeth, and the flap for its throat convulsed as an ugly snarl rose through it. 

Snufkin scarcely had time to react as the creature suddenly struck out with its teeth, snapping them into the palm of his paw before taking off and disappearing underwater with an unclean splash. He reared back with a yowl, clutching his paw and steadying himself on the rock, and glowered at the dissipating bubbles in front of him. His lip curled with an agitated growl. 

Then he checked his paw, grimacing at the deep red wound and the blood oozing from it. It was not big, and was not bleeding a lot, but by the Booble - it _hurt_. The pain nagged as he flexed his paw, and soon his digits began to numb. He knelt down to quickly douse his wound in the freezing water below before continuing his way across the stones. 

Now he felt odd. He reached land and turned back to the stream, noting the acrid scent of the otter-creature was still persisting. In fact, some of it had gotten on his wound. He surveyed his paw again and frowned, knowing the water did not help the bleeding. It did help him to see the wound more clearly, and he knew it was going to get infected if he didn't dress it with a bandage soon. Snufkin ensured to make a note of that, now on a mission to set camp in a dense thicket somewhere.

The couple of days that succeeded went on as normal, with Snufkin forgetting about the incident as soon as he wrapped his paw with a bandage. The bleeding did take a bit longer than expected to finally clot, but it was a relief to have only a dull ache left behind, and Snufkin ultimately made a mental note to not provoke vaguely threatening creatures again. 

Then one day, he woke up with a tight feeling in his chest. He sat up from his sleeping bag, head in a throbbing whirl, and paws crushed against his aching stomach. It took a few seconds of his sleepy mind to piece together what was happening, and he gasped as it finally hit. He burst out his tent and just managed to reach a patch of shrubbery where he violently vomited. There was very little in his stomach anyway - you learn to conserve your energy after adapting to a vagrant lifestyle - and so he considered the dry-heaving much worse than the puking that had preceded. 

Finally it all stopped as quickly as it happened and Snufkin was left with a ringing head and a churning stomach. He slowly heaved himself up, taking deep breaths, and hoped he had not awoken any animals. It was rare for him to be this ill, and it was even more startling from how unprompted it was. But Snufkin decided not to think about it. Everyone gets sick.

He packed up his camp and continued onward, now with a pounding headache and an ugly feeling in his throat. Every now and then he would soothe the feeling with a mouthful of snow, and it would help for a while, but it ultimately killed his appetite for the day. That night he tried to have some light stew: boil a pot of water and drop some fish pieces into it. But when the mere smell of it made him expel his insides again, he decided he would go without dinner for tonight. 

The next few days were as bad as the other; Snufkin could hardly eat, and his diet would mainly consist of pawfuls of snow, and even they were becoming increasingly difficult to hold down. He wondered what was happening to him. Could it be a stomach bug? He was never susceptible to the winter illness; but there was a first time for everything, he supposed. He wondered how Moominmamma would cure it. He may need to share a bed with Moomintroll for a while.

All of a sudden, he really wanted to go back home. 

His sleep was becoming more and more disturbed, some days it would not even come. When he did dream, he would see nothing but formless shapes, and dismembered voices, and white painful flashes that always woke him up in a hot sweat. Often he would wake up in the middle of the night and be unable to go back to sleep - so on top of all of this, he was sleep deprived. 

It's amazing how quickly one's health can deteriorate in just a week. Snufkin started to neglect redressing his paw wound every other day; not like it was getting better anyway. His movements were sluggish, guided by will over instinct, and he was promptly stopped after what could have been hours of aimless walking. He had nearly stumbled into a stream, the sound of its gentle rushing briefly knocking him away from his dazed state, and his heart dropped as his eyes met the water. 

His body was suddenly wracked in weak shivers and he backed away from the stream, mind whirling and irritation itching his skin. But the sound of water did not want to leave him, if anything it rang louder the further he backed. His throat became closed as he fought the urge to choke and at the same time he wanted to scream. 

Snufkin turned tail and fled from the water as though his life depended on it, retreating into a bush and curling up into his stomach like a frightened little creature. Although the temperature was below freezing he felt like he was burning, and his bitten paw was tingling like no other. With his heart racing he clutched his head and just prayed and prayed the ringing would subside, that the water would stop rushing, that the pain would just _stop_…

When he forced open his eyes, he was met with darkness. He poked his head out the bushes and realised night had already fallen. But it was so quick. Suddenly a cold chill flooded him and Snufkin slowly stepped out the bush, careful to keep his weak knees from buckling. His headache had died down by a tad, although he was more distracted by a dull itchy sensation in his paw. 

He inspected his bitten paw again; it was clumsily laced by a bandage he had last dressed perhaps… a week ago? It had been dampened grey and there was a faint spot of red in the middle, and as Snufkin carefully unwrapped the bandage, it was almost nauseating to see how swollen and heated the wound was. This definitely was not normal. He never had injuries that lasted over a week. 

Dread filled him as he embarked on a different path, not even wanting to think about the water still. Something was terribly wrong with him and he needed to find help soon, because something was telling Snufkin he had little time left.

**Author's Note:**

> snufkin fucking gets rabies. except is it really rabies or not? stay tuned lul 
> 
> although i did have to look up rabies symptoms for this so it ain't looking good chief
> 
> this is supposed to be chaptered but for some reason my new phone won't let me do it so... just know there's more coming soon


End file.
